


for what i know, will i be loved

by walkthegale



Category: The Bletchley Circle
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Femslash, First Kiss, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkthegale/pseuds/walkthegale
Summary: Millie and Jean go back to Jean's flat after a night out dancing.
Relationships: Millie Harcourt/Jean McBrian
Comments: 19
Kudos: 49
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	for what i know, will i be loved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koboldspucke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koboldspucke/gifts).



> A treat for koboldspucke! And with many thanks to my amazing beta reader, cosmic_llin!

Jean knows she shouldn’t have accepted that last drink. It’s all right for Millie - Jean is quite sure she has the day off tomorrow, but Jean is expected at the library bright and early in the morning, and she knows, as the lights from the street lamps sway a little against the dark sky, that she’s going to regret a few of the decisions she made tonight. It’s not really like her, not in recent years, anyway, but Millie can be very persuasive.

She and Millie share a cab to Jean’s flat - it’s nearer than Millie’s and Jean isn’t keen on either of them going anywhere on their own in this sort of a state. She thinks Millie had a few more than she did, and the way Millie leans heavily on her arm as they walk up the garden path bears out that hypothesis.

And if Jean enjoys the contact, enjoys the warm weight of Millie leaning against her as she fumbles her key in the front door - well, she’s tipsy, and Millie is a very beautiful woman, and there’s no shame in appreciating that.

They’re both laughing by the time they get inside, Millie still hanging off Jean’s arm, and it’s fortunate that she is, because she’s less familiar with the layout of this flat than Jean is and she catches her heel and stumbles over the little step just inside the doorway. She would have fallen if she hadn’t already had a grip on Jean, if Jean hadn’t swung around, with a reaction speed she didn’t know she possessed, and caught Millie with her other hand about her waist.

It’s bitterly cold outside, and the door is hanging open still, letting all the chill air into the flat, but neither of them moves to close it. Millie’s eyes are very wide, and she’s breathing fast from the shock, and Jean has the feeling that if she lets go, Millie might yet fall over. Or at least, that’s what she’s telling herself. Millie, meanwhile, has clutched a handful of Jean’s sleeve, and is showing no signs of releasing it.

Jean looks up, into Millie’s face, pale and sharp in the dim, shadowed light from the road. “Are you all right?” she asks, and her throat is drier than she expected, and the words come out a little strangled, but she’s thankful she doesn’t slur them at all.

Millie opens her mouth, presumably to reply, but then seems to think better of it and closes it again, and Jean finds she can’t quite tear her eyes away from Millie’s lips, pressed together in a funny half-smile.

A moment passes, where all the world is silent and still on this deep winter’s night, and Jean is very aware of the texture of Millie’s coat under her hands. Millie smells lovely - perfume and powder, under the tang of alcohol on her breath.

And then Millie leans down, leans in, close enough that Jean feels the heat of Millie’s mouth against her own, that she isn’t totally sure that Millie’s lips don’t brush hers before something in Jean reacts faster than her brain again and she pulls away abruptly, dropping her hold on Millie and stepping back in the same movement.

“Best get warmed up,” Jean finds herself saying, as she manoeuvres awkwardly around Millie to close the door behind them.

Millie makes a vague noise of agreement. Jean can’t look at her. She doesn’t want to see what face Millie’s making, whether she’s looking at Jean, or looking away. Instead, she takes off her coat and hangs it by the door, and Millie does the same. They neither of them say much. Jean notes that Millie has switched from using Jean’s arm to using the wall for support.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Millie sounds clearer than Jean would have expected. She can hear where a couple of words threaten to run together, but it’s obvious Millie’s putting in some effort.

Jean looks up then and catches Millie’s eye, but Millie shifts her gaze away before Jean can read anything there. She doesn’t regret avoiding the kiss, if that’s what it was even intended to be. Millie’s very obviously drunk, and the last thing Jean wants is to let her do something she’d regret. Something that might upset the balance of this friendship that Jean has come to treasure so dearly.

“Don’t be daft.” Jean's own voice rings oddly in her ears, like all the sound in the room is accentuated somehow. “It’s freezing, and the cat’s been sleeping on my spare blankets. Come on.” Her tone brooks no nonsense, she knows. She leads the way through to the bedroom and Millie follows, unsteady still, but without protest.

Once they’re there, everything begins to settle back into a routine they’ve followed before. Jean lends Millie a set of pyjamas - too loose at the top, and too short in the leg, but more comfortable than sleeping in her frock - and turns her back to change into her own. She’s too tired, her brain still too dulled by wine and a long evening’s dancing to prepare for bed properly, but she does brush out her hair while Millie slips beneath the sheets, with an endearing little gasp at the chill of the bed.

By the time Jean slides in beside her, Millie has sunk into the pillows, with blankets pulled up to her chin and her eyes closed - long, dark lashes sweeping her cheeks and her lips still vibrant red. There will be makeup smears on the pillowcase in the morning, but Jean can’t bring herself to care.

Jean wouldn’t say no to kissing Millie, is the fact of it, not if Millie truly wanted her in return. But that seems highly unlikely, and Jean won’t hold her accountable for actions taken while her judgement is quite obviously impaired.

She doubts Millie will even remember any of this in the morning anyway, though she’s sure she will herself. She lets herself play it back in her mind, just once. The feel of Millie in her arms - it had hardly been romantic, all awkward angles and bulky coats, and yet… Millie leaning down to her, as naturally as if she did so every day. Millie’s mouth, so very, very near to her own.

Jean is startled by the press of Millie’s icy feet against her leg. She looks over, and there’s enough light to see that Millie is very clearly asleep, or close enough as to make no difference. She lets Millie shuffle closer to her, lets her settle tucked into Jean’s side. The warmth will do them both good, and it isn’t as if she has never held Millie before.

Resisting a deep desire to drape her arm over Millie’s waist, to draw her in closer still, Jean closes her eyes and waits for sleep to follow. It takes longer than it usually might, and she doesn’t let herself think of a kiss that didn’t happen, not when Millie is right here beside her, separated only by a few layers of cloth.

***

In the morning, Jean’s mouth tastes like old socks, and she can feel her pulse pounding behind her eyes.

Millie is a restless sleeper. She has been for as long as Jean has known her. She moves and kicks, and winds the blankets about herself, and makes little whimpering sounds under her breath. Jean wonders, sometimes, whether she has always been this way, or whether Millie’s sleep was quieter, calmer, before the war.

Once she’s up and dressed and has fed the cat, who winds herself around Jean’s ankles and nearly trips her over, Jean wakes Millie with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She explains that she’s going to work, and asks Millie to remember to lock the front door when she leaves. Millie makes a muffled noise of agreement into the pillow, though she doesn’t open her eyes.

Jean leaves a cup of tea on the bedside table, and heads to the library. Outside is dim and grey and the wind blows sleet sideways under her umbrella, but at least it clears her head and she’s almost grateful for it.

***

The day is long and very busy, which is on some fronts a blessing, because she doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on her own thoughts. It’s also exhausting, and she hasn’t had nearly enough sleep, and by late afternoon, she’s grateful that everyone else has left and that she has a little quiet time to tidy up some final tasks before she finishes for the day.

She’s in amongst the shelves, deeply absorbed in her work, when the door opens. There’s the sound of heels across the floor, and she knows without looking around that it’s Millie.

“I thought I’d find you still here,” Millie says after a moment. “I’ve brought you a piece of cake.”

Jean takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes. “Homemade?”

Millie lets out a bark of laughter. “Not on your life. I bought us each a piece on my way here.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Jean does turn around then, and her eyes lock with Millie’s. Millie, who looks as fresh and well-put-together as ever despite her activities of the previous evening, raises one eyebrow and Jean knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that Millie remembers everything that happened, and everything that didn’t.

Millie takes a step forward then, all the amusement on her face dropping into worry. Into something that on anyone else, Jean would call nerves. Jean’s own heart seems to be beating faster than it should.

“Jean…” Millie begins, then pauses, swallows, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “Oh Jean, I’m sorry, I made an absolute arse of myself, didn’t I? I should have known you wouldn’t want… wouldn’t want…”

Jean moves forward before she knows that’s what she’s going to do. She puts her hand on Millie’s arm, tentative at first, but then holds onto it when Millie doesn’t flinch. “You didn’t,” Jean says. It comes out low, almost catching in her throat. “Don’t apologise.” She steels herself, looks straight into Millie’s eyes. _In for a penny._ “I did want. I do, want.”

“But you -”

Jean doesn’t let her finish. “You were drunk,” she says. “I didn’t want you to regret… anything.” _Me. I never want you to regret me._

Millie closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, there’s a sheen of unshed tears. “Oh,” she says, quietly.

Jean waits. She doesn’t think she could move if she tried. She’s laid her cards on the table, whether she intended to or not, and now it’s up to Millie.

Millie, who has never once in her life failed to rise to an occasion, doesn’t falter now. She puts her hands on either side of Jean’s waist, warm through Jean’s blouse. Her eyes are wide and drowningly deep. “You do want?” she asks, her voice a little hoarse.

Not trusting herself to speak, Jean nods. Millie’s lips are slightly parted, and their closeness fills Jean’s entire world. She wants, and she waits.

And her patience is rewarded. Millie closes the space between them and kisses her, and this time Jean doesn’t pull away. This time Jean returns the kiss with every bit of the fervour that’s in her heart. Reaching up and cupping Millie’s cheek in her palm, she presses her body into Millie’s and feels Millie respond in kind. She flickers her tongue over Millie’s lips and Millie opens her mouth obligingly, and Jean is utterly lost in the scent and taste and feel of her.

It’s some time before either of them has the presence of mind to break the kiss, but eventually something in the back of Jean’s head informs her that they’re still at her place of work, and that she isn’t keen on causing a scandal if anyone should happen to walk in.

“Come home with me,” she says, breathless, and Millie, her hair and lipstick in enchanting disarray, nods. She keeps a tight hold on Jean’s hand, like she expects Jean to slip away somehow. Like she expects to be left here, alone, despite everything.

“Come on, Millie,” Jean says again. She speaks clearly, firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “Let’s go.”

Millie smiles. It’s a smile Jean has seen frequently in recent months, and yet somehow entirely different.

Jean takes Millie home to bed.


End file.
